THE NEW WORLD
On a beautiful Sunday morning in May, 1899, the steamship _Comrade_
slowly swept through the Golden Gate with two thousand enthusiastic
Socialists crowding her decks, shouting, cheering, laughing, crying,
singing their joy and faith in the new world of human brotherhood for
which they had set sail.
The flag of the republic flew from her stern because the law of the
port of entry required it. But from her huge prow rose a slender steel
staff, above the tips of her funnels and masts, on which flew the
blood-red ensign of Socialism, while from every masthead huge red
steamers fluttered in the sky.
At noon on the following day the eager eyes of the pioneers sighted
the island of Ventura. At first a tiny white and blue spot on the
horizon, and then slowly out of the sea rose its majestic outlines,
until at last the ship drew in so close to the towering mountains of
its shore line the colonists could almost touch the stone walls with
their hands.
The captain was evidently at home in the sparkling blue waters which
rolled lazily against the perpendicular cliffs.
Norman had climbed over the piles of freight, cordage, and anchors,
and taken his stand beside the flagstaff on the ship's prow, his soul
enraptured with the thrilling adventure on which he had embarked.
He had made two trips to the island before, but never had he seen it
rise from the sea in such matchless glory as to-day.
Far up in the sky loomed the mountain peaks still covered with snow,
while the rich hills and valleys to the southward rolled laughingly in
their robes of green.
Five miles down the coast the ship turned her nose inshore, and slowly
ploughed her way through a narrow channel which opened between two
hills. She quickly cleared the channel and rounded another headland,
when a shout rang from her decks. Straight before them, across a
beautiful landlocked bay, which formed a perfect harbour, rose the
huge hotel, the home of the Brotherhood. The central building was
crowned by two tall towers, and the long wings which stretched toward
the sea pierced the skyline with a dozen minarets of quaint Moorish
pattern. From the flagpole on the lawn, from each graceful tower and
each shining sun-kissed minaret, flew the scarlet ensign of Socialism.
When the ship swept in alongside the pier the building loomed from its
hilltop higher apparently than the mountain range behind it.
Barbara clapped her hands as she ran to Norman's side.
"Look! Look at those flags! Aren't they glorious? Nobody will haul
them down here, will they?"
Norman lifted his eyes and looked in silence for a moment. A stiff
breeze was blowing from the southeast, and the two huge banners of
scarlet stood straight from their staffs on the towers and seemed to
fill the sky with quivering flame.
"Glorious!" he said, at last. "They speak the end of strife, the dawn
of love and human brotherhood!"
The Wolfs had preceded them to the colony with a select band of
enthusiasts, stored the first supplies, and set the place in order to
receive as welcome guests the first shipload of pioneers.
When the throng of joyous, excited comrades had landed, they formed in
line and marched up from the pier. The wide, white, smooth road led
through a wilderness of flowers which had grown in wild profusion
since they had been abandoned two years before. The Wolfs led the
procession, with Barbara and Norman by their side.
When they reached the big circle of scarlet geraniums in the centre of
the floral court between the two wings of the great building they
stopped, and Catherine began in her clear, thrilling soprano voice the
Marseillaise hymn. The pioneers crowded around her tall, commanding
figure and sang with inspired emotion. Every heart beat with high
resolve. The heaven of which they had dreamed was no longer a dream.
They were walking its white, shining streets. Their souls were crying
for joy in its dazzling court of honour. The old world, with its sin
and shame, its crime and misery, its hunger and cold, its greed and
lust, its cruelty and insanity, had passed away, and lo! all things
were new. The very air was charged with faith and hope and love. A
wave of religious ecstasy swept the crowd. They called each by their
first names. Strong men embraced, crying "Comrade!" through their
tears. The older ones had made allowances for the glowing accounts of
the island. They expected some disillusioning at first. Yet their
wildest expectations were far surpassed. Such beauty, such grandeur,
such wealth of nature, such magnificence of equipment, were too good
to be true, and yet they were facts.
The island of Ventura was enchanted. The impression it gave each heart
of the certainty of success was the biggest asset of real wealth with
which the colony began its history.